


Watch Joe Mauer Throw!

by actualite



Category: Baseball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:30:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualite/pseuds/actualite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The title of this fic is a direct quote from Salty in <a href="http://anonym.to/?http://mlb.mlb.com/video/play.jsp?content_id=3963293">this 2009 interview</a> (at about 2:00) where he reveals that "Ian Kinsler told me one time in Minnesota, you know, 'Watch Joe Mauer throw.'"</p>
    </blockquote>





	Watch Joe Mauer Throw!

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic is a direct quote from Salty in [this 2009 interview](http://anonym.to/?http://mlb.mlb.com/video/play.jsp?content_id=3963293) (at about 2:00) where he reveals that "Ian Kinsler told me one time in Minnesota, you know, 'Watch Joe Mauer throw.'"

Ian sits down at the dining room table with his instant hot chocolate in a mug that says WORLD'S BEST DAD! - which must be Salty's, since it's just the kind of cheesy shit Ashley would buy for Salty and pretend it was from the girls - and the latest Sports Illustrated. He knows it's a waste of time, but for some reason they have a free subscription and it just keeps coming so he always flips through it quickly. He stops when he gets to a page with a picture of Joe Mauer on it.

Ian peers down at it critically. It must be a picture from last season. He's got all his catching gear on, his mask perched on top of his helmet as he smiles down at something. He's a tall fucker, Ian thinks for the hundredth time. But he looks kind of scrawny compared to Salty. Ian feels erroneously smug when he thinks about how Salty's chest is broader and his shoulders wider.

"Whatcha readin'?" Salty says, startling Ian as he walks up behind him. He peers over Ian's shoulder at the magazine.

"Just the latest SI," Ian says, quickly shutting it and tossing it aside. Salty's always telling Ian not to go snooping around on the Internet or newspapers or magazines looking for mentions of himself or any of his teammates, because more often than not Ian just gets really angry and upset with what he reads. He's embarrassed that Salty's caught him looking through it.

"Was Skittles at Ashley's place?" Ian asks, referring to Hunter's favorite stuffed animal, the loss of which had resulted in quite an uproar in the house all weekend. Salty had finally calmed Hunter down by surmising that she had just left it at her mother's house, so Ian hoped it actually was there when Salty dropped his daughters off.

"'Course it was," Salty says.

"Phew," Ian says, taking a sip of his chocolate. "Glad I'm not going to be blamed for ruining your daughter's life."

"Who'd blame you?" Salty says, picking up the magazine and flipping through it. He stops on a certain page and peruses it.

"Um, Ashley would?" Ian says. "I know you think I'm imagining it but she really has it out for me. Anything that goes wrong I get the blame. I'm too careless, I'm too self-absorbed, I'm too immature--"

"She's just overprotective, she don't mean nothing by it," Salty says absently. He seems absorbed in the magazine.

Ian watches him. "I wasn't looking for mentions of myself," he says defiantly after this goes on for a while.

Salty looks up. "What? Oh. Yeah, I didn't figure you were," he says, and then he tosses the magazine over onto the table.

They decide to order a pizza for dinner and watch football. Ian isn't crazy about football but they both have fantasy leagues and Salty is pretty into it so they pretty much always have either an NFL or college game on if they're at home.

They've each had about three PBRs and are making good progress on the pizza when Ian starts to notice that Salty doesn't seem to be paying attention to the game as much as he is eyeing Ian out of the corner of his eye every few seconds and then pretending that he wasn't when Ian looks over.

"Is something bothering you?" Ian says, taking another slice and biting into it, chewing noisily. After a week of running around after five kids he's famished. Rian and Jack were back in Arizona with their mom and Salty had taken his kids back to Ashley's.

"What? No," Salty says, taking his glasses off for a second and rubbing his eyes, then putting them back on.

"Okay," Ian says, turning his attention back to the game.

"So," Salty says, about fifteen minutes later. "You haven't asked me to do you with all my gear on in a while."

Ian stops in the middle of wiping his greasy fingers on a paper towel. He looks over at Salty. "I didn't think you missed doing that," he says suspiciously, though it comes out kind of muffled because his mouth is full.

"Well it wasn't my favorite thing but I didn't mind," Salty says.

"You always looked so uncomfortable," Ian says, swallowing. "Plus last time I got cum all over your chest protector and you got mad."

"Aw, I wasn't mad," Salty protests.

"Yes you were," Ian says.

"Well, if you ever want to do it again I won't be mad no matter where you come," Salty says.

"Okay then," Ian says, wondering what's gotten into Salty. "I'm not really in the mood right now but, you know, thanks for the offer."

"No problem."

Ian gives Salty a strange look and then turns back to the game.

They've finished the entire box of pizza and it's almost halftime the next time Salty speaks. "You said one time that you always had a thing for catchers," he says casually.

"What?" Ian says turning to look over at Salty. Salty is still sitting pretty upright, but Ian had scooted forward and leaned his head back, his feet resting on the coffee table and his hands clasped over his stomach.

"Right after we did it the first time in the clubhouse in Fenway. With my gear on. You said you'd had a thing for catchers forever."

"Did I?" Ian says. "I guess I do."

"You do? You mean you still do?" Salty says.

"Christ, I don't know, I'm fucking you, aren't I? And you're a catcher. We fucking live together and potty train each other's kids. I'd say I was into a catcher."

"Yeah," Salty says, smiling at Ian and reaching over to rub his shoulder affectionately.

"Okay," Ian says, turning back to the TV.

During half-time Ian makes Salty get up to make some popcorn while he checks his email on his phone. When Salty comes back he hands Ian the bowl and Ian puts a big handful in his mouth.

"I was just remembering," Salty says, again in that casual voice, "how, back when I was on the team, whenever we played Minnesota you would tell me to watch Joe Mauer."

Ian looks over at Salty mid-chew, then purposefully swallows and washes it down with a swig of beer.

"Okay, that's taking it back," Ian says carefully. He has no memory of telling Salty this but he isn't surprised. He used to be very concerned with finding teachable moments as excuses to talk to Salty, and was always pleased at how receptive Salty was to Ian's pedagogical flirting.

"I was just wondering if there's other catchers you liked watching."

"Other catchers I like watching?" Ian repeats, staring at Salty. "I have no idea what you're talking about right now."

"Like, say, A.J. Pierzynski. Do you think he's hot?"

"Wow, Salty. What the fuck?"

"It's a simple question. Do you think A.J. Pierzynski is hot?"

"Uh," Ian says slowly, "I don't know. I never really thought about it. I guess he's kind of a badass. But sometimes his chin looks like it's melting into his neck."

"What about, like, Yadier?"

"Don't say that guy's name in this house," Ian says quellingly. "I hate that fucker."

"I mean before the 2011 World Series."

"There is no before the 2011 World Series," Ian says sullenly. "That was a different era."

"Okay, how about Posada?"

"Yeah, if we're talking disappearing chins, he has one. Good guy, though. His ears are huge. I know what that's like."

"True," Salty says, laughing a little.

Ian runs through some other catchers in his head.

"You know who's kind of a stud," he says absently, munching more popcorn, "is that kid Arencibia."

The quarterback scores a touchdown and Ian is absorbed in watching the replay for a while, but when it cuts to commercial shortly after he realizes Salty has been pretty quiet.

"What's all this questioning about, anyway?" Ian says.

"Just wondering what your type is," Salty says, and for the first time Ian can detect a hint of unhappiness in his voice.

"My type? Are you serious right now?"

"C'mon, Ian," Salty says, crossing his arms and staring at the TV. "I already know you think Mauer hangs the moon, and you spend hours on the phone with Naps every other day. But then a guy like Tek, you are barely even polite to him when I ask him and Cath over, and he's one of the best the game will ever see. So I'm just starting to wonder if it's about these guys being good or--if it's something else."

Ian's head falls to the back of the couch as he laughs. "Oh, God, is that what this is about?" He throws a kernel of popcorn at Salty, who doesn't flinch, just lets it bounce off of his broad chest. "You're being ridiculous. I think Tek is really full of himself and I can't stand that fake bitch he's married to. Mauer is a good catcher if he can stay healthy, and Naps is one of my best friends. That's it."

"But you just said Arencibia's a stud," Salty says. "He's just a kid. He's younger than I am, even."

Ian smirks at the TV. "Don't worry, old man. You don't need to be looking over your shoulder. I'm not like Ashley. We don't all stop being attracted to people after they turn 25."

Immediately after making the joke he regrets it. Salty doesn't say anything, just slowly gets up and walks out of the room.

"Salty," Ian says. "Salty, come back. I didn't mean it. It was just a joke."

Salty doesn't come back, and Ian heaves a sigh, reaching for the remote so he can turn the TV off. He gets up and trots to the bedroom behind Salty.

When he gets there Salty is sitting on his side of the bed untangling the cord on his headphones. His fingers are so big he always has trouble untying tiny knots, and he looks like he is concentrating very hard.

Ian watches him for a moment. Sometimes he does forget how young Salty is. From the first moment they met, despite being three years younger, Salty just seemed older, wiser, more patient when it came to anything but baseball. The only time Ian ever felt he had anything to offer Salty was when he was struggling in the sport and Ian could try to give him a few tips, his attraction taking a pedagogical form. It wasn't until much later that Ian realized how much Salty looked up to him and how eager he was to please Ian. Salty rarely reveals his insecurities; he chooses to appear oblivious rather than uncertain or lacking in confidence, and they've had quite a few fights resulting from Ian's failure to understand that Salty being thick or refusing to acknowledge problems was usually just Salty trying to cover up the fact that he felt unsure about something and didn't want to reveal this to Ian. Salty seemed to know that Ian relied so much on his strength, and he was often very reluctant to admit when he needed help or reassurance, though Ian could give him one tiny drop of mild praise or approbation and Salty would beam as if he could live off of it for a hundred years.

Salty doesn't look up, just keeps pretending to concentrate on the tiny knot in the thin cord.

"Hey," Ian says. "Are you jealous of Naps?" Not the most tactful beginning but Ian wants to get to the point.

"Like you said," Salty says, frowning and shrugging slightly, trying to sound nonchalant. "He's your friend. I got no problem with that."

"Maybe I do spend too much time on the phone with him. The guy's real quiet around strangers but once you get to know him, there's no stopping him. He can go on and on for days. I'll try to keep a better lid on it."

Salty nods slightly, but he still doesn't look up.

Ian starts to feel sad. He moves quickly over to Salty, kneeling down in front of him and putting his hands on Salty's knees.

"Hey," he says urgently. "What started all this? Was it that stupid magazine? I'll go throw it out right now."

"You don't gotta do that," Salty says, and he finally looks down at Ian.

Not for the first time Ian reflects on how Salty's brown eyes look ageless, like they belong to someone much older, who has seen everything and has infinite understanding.

"There's only one catcher I'm into," Ian says.

Salty blinks down at him.

"I'm talking about you, idiot," Ian says.

Salty smiles slightly and puts his hands over Ian's. They're warm and dry and huge. Ian knows Salty's hands, has memorized each callus and scar and line, the width of each finger, the way his right hand already looks a little gnarled. They're strong and rough and Ian loves them, just like he loves every part of Salty, even the ridiculous part of him that would still be jealous of something Ian said years ago.

"I told you to watch Joe Mauer because yes, he's a really good catcher when his health isn't bad, but I wasn't inviting you to all those dinners during Spring Training because I wanted to talk about him. I would've thought that was obvious, given the way things went."

"I dunno, Ian," Salty says quietly. "Sometimes I can't believe things turned out the way they did. I wonder if you just kinda fell into this and--all the shit we've gone through with the divorces and keeping it a secret and all that..." He trails off, swallowing hard. "I want to be worth it. For you."

"God, Salty," Ian moans, resting his forehead against their entwined hands. "Don't make me say I love you, you know how hard it is for me to say that shit. But if I didn't I wouldn't be here."

He looks up at Salty and sees something pleading in Salty's eyes.

"Okay, fine," Ian says, taking a deep breath and standing up. He reaches for Salty's glasses, taking them off and putting them on the table.

"First off, I love your hair," he says, and he puts his hands in it, smoothing it back and forcing Salty to tilt his head back. "Even if it is disappearing faster every year."

"I know," Salty says, smiling. "I'm gonna need a combover soon."

"You better not," Ian says. "I'm shaving it all off in your sleep if you do."

"Okay," Salty says agreeably, and Ian feels his chest hurt a little. Salty is always so eager to do exactly what Ian wants.

"I love your ears," Ian continues, running the tips of his fingers around the shell of Salty's right ear, "even though you thought it was a good idea to get them pierced. I love your big Italian nose"--he bites the tip of it gently--"and your beard, I even love this fucking ridiculous beard, just because you grew it. And your eyes," he says, staring into them. "I love your big puppy dog eyes with your girly eyelashes."

He reaches down to pull Salty's shirt over his head. "God, Salty, I love your shoulders. I've lain here on Sunday mornings trying to count all the freckles on your shoulders and back and I never get far enough before I have to just--mmph." He leans down quickly to bite the top of Salty's bicep.

Then, still leaning his forehead against Salty's shoulder, he reaches up to finger the thin line of raised skin at Salty's collarbone where they cut into him to remove his rib. "I even love this scar, even though it's what took you away from me. But I love it because it's part of you," he says quietly.

"And look at these pecs," he continues, smiling and drawing back to reach down and rest his hands on Salty's soft chest. "Man, your tits are bigger than Tess's when you get all fat in the offseason but I still love them. Even your big hairy nipples. I love these abs hidden under all this chub," he says, poking Salty's stomach. "And all these tattoos." He traces over the big one on Salty's chest, the lettering on his arms, his biceps. "Even the ones you got 'cause of your ex-wife, I love those too because you never thought for a second back then that it wouldn't be forever. You wanted it to be forever, even though you were only 20 years old and had your whole life ahead of you."

"Ian," Salty starts, but Ian interrupts him.

"Shh," he says, and then pushes Salty back onto the bed, climbing up to straddle him. He reaches for Salty's hands. "I love the way you touch me with your hands." Ian can feel his own face redden as he says it, but it's true; nothing turns him on like feeling Salty's hands on him, anywhere.

He hurriedly moves to begin undoing Salty's pants to hide his embarrassment. "Look at you," he says, leaning forward and running his hands slowly down Salty's body, dragging his pants down when he gets to them. "This ass. It's one of the first things I noticed about you. You got a huge bubble butt that never gets any smaller no matter how much weight you lose during the season."

"Yeah, I got my mom's ass," Salty says, craning his head and twisting his body in an effort to look behind himself.

"Well, I don't love your mom's but I love yours," Ian says. "And I love your big strong thighs. You could do anything with these. You could probably snap me in half."

"Is that why you're always so nervous about getting between them to suck my cock?" Salty says, smiling.

"No," Ian says warmly. "I'm nervous because your cock is so fuckin' big I always think I might choke on it." It's soft now, but as Ian bend down and rubs his cheek against it Salty starts to harden.

"That's it," Ian croons. "I love your dick, Salty. It's perfect. Straight and uncut." He keeps rubbing his cheek against it, licking up the side and brushing his lips against the tip but never actually taking it in his mouth, and Salty just watches, blinking at Ian as he gets harder and harder.

Finally Ian crawls back up. "The first day you walked into our clubhouse I thought, wow, I'd let him do me six ways to Sunday. And when I saw you all suited up I thought, fuck, I'd let him do me right here in the middle of the field if he wanted to. And I'll tell you something," Ian says. "The only time I've ever thought that about anybody is with you. I hope you know that."

"Baby," Salty says, reaching up to touch Ian's face.

"But what I love most about you," Ian says, holding his own hand over Salty's, "is how hard you try to do right by everyone. I would've let you fuck me but I would never have left my wife and moved in with you and put my kids through all that if I didn't know you were worth it. I did all that and I still feel like a selfish douchebag when I see how much you try to do for me and for our kids. So don't ever wonder if it's worth it for me. Okay?"

Salty reaches up then and rolls over so that Ian is underneath him. "Ian," he says, and he's beaming so bright, glowing from Ian's praise and so eager to please him, to deserve all of Ian's words that weren't even so generous, don't even begin to touch the surface of what Ian feels about Salty.

He leans down, opening Ian up with his mouth, and Ian loses himself again to Salty, who knows just how to touch him to make him unfurl and reveal himself. Salty is heavy and urgent, and Ian can feel how badly he wants to show Ian, to prove himself, and Ian hungrily swallows it up, all of Salty's bright burn, his big, ecstatic need to love and be loved.

When they finish Salty rolls over and Ian crawls up to drape himself exhaustedly over Salty's broad chest.

"I may not catch as good as Mauer," Salty says as Ian feels him breathe, "but I bet he can't make you feel like that." He sounds pleased with himself.

"God, no," Ian moans.

They're quiet for a moment, letting the air cool their sweaty bodies, and then Salty turns his head slightly, speaking into Ian's hair. "Do you think he's really 6'5?"

"Shut up about Joe Mauer already, Jesus!" Ian says grumpily. "I'm starting to think you're the one who wants to fuck him."

"Alright, alright," Salty says, laughing and pulling Ian close.

"I never got to finish my popcorn," Ian says after a few minutes.

"I'll go get it for you," Salty says, kissing Ian's hair and then getting up.

Ian smiles, burying his face in Salty's pillow. He has the best boyfriend in the world.


End file.
